


The Observing Guest

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Submissive!Ron Weasley, Voyeurism, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: Neither of us knows how he'll react when it happens. It could go either way.





	The Observing Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Content: Weasleycest, heavy BDSM, rimming, use of ginger in painful places, voyeurism, language.

It's a relief that he is submissive. We would have wanted him to take that role and had he not been so inclined to it, that would have proved awkward.  
  
But Ron is so willing to submit to us that he's practically putty in our hands. So malleable, so desperate to hurt, to be consumed with pleasure, to feel and be loved in the confines of this special play room.  
  
Each of us has our own specific desires that we want from him. He gives us everything we want. He allows himself to become completely ours. The things we do to him make us all blush in the cold light of day. But in the room, it's expected. It's why we come here. Why he follows.  
  
Tonight is no different. His lithe, rangy body is twisted by some furniture which exposes him without modesty. He is unable move for the straps holding him down, one of which is a thick leather belt over his throat. There are suction cups over his nipples, which are engorged and painful looking. His belly shakes with tension as his balls are tugged whilst fingers plunge in and out of his hole.  
  
“You want to...?” Bill asks. “I've been hogging him.”  
“I don't think he minds,” I say. “Look at him.”  
  
And it's true, Ron looks at perfect peace trapped in front of us. He lets out a moan of frustration that Bill has stopped finger-fucking him, but his gag prevents him from saying anything further.  
  
“Is anyone else coming tonight?” Bill asks, looking towards the door.  
“I think it's just us.”  
“Good.”  
  
Bill hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. He kisses me in full view of Ron, in full view of -  
  
“Have you decided how you want to play tonight?” Bill whispers to me, playfully mouthing at my earlobe. “We could do anything. Figging. Fisting. Fucking. All the best Fs.”  
  
I shake my head and get down on my knees, bringing my face level with the neatly trimmed sac I groomed by hand when we first got here. I like him that way. He likes that I do it. I put my mouth over one bollock and suck at it; he wriggles against his binds and moans.  
  
Then he screams and I look up and see why – Bill has pulled off the suction cups and is pinching both of his nipples, hard. Every part of him starts to tremble with the pain and in order to compensate with something sweet, I let my tongue unfold into him. Bill has loosened him up nicely and I relax my jaw, smelling the earthiness of his skin and tasting him as I have hundreds of times before. He whimpers with desire and I smile, let myself chuckle against him, knowing the hot breath will drive him wild.  
  
But then he bellows again behind the gag and when I look up, Bill has him by the shaft, head cruelly exposed and is rubbing in what looks like ginger paste.  
  
Sobs immediately follow and Bill at least has the decency to vanish the gag so that Ron can properly breathe through the agony.  
  
Bill is cruel, unnecessarily so in my opinion. But I know why he's doing it.  
  
“Good boy,” he croons softly, reaching up with his free hand to massage Ron's chest. “You can take it. You can. Just breathe.”  
  
I watch as Ron fights to get himself under control. It's masterful to see, his determination and his grit, as he drags himself back to a state where he is no longer out of control.  
  
When his eyes dry, I resume my task, tongue-fucking him until he's gasping with pleasure, waiting for the next cruel thing which Bill wants to do.  
  
But Bill doesn't do anything else. He simply starts to stroke Ron from root to tip, in a punishing, firm way which says that everything is about to end. Ron knows this too and he starts to beg.  
  
“Please... I can take more... I can do more... don't stop. It's so good... please...”  
  
Bill ignores him and so do I, licking away between his spread legs. Neither of us knows how he'll react when it happens. It could go either way.  
  
“We've had a special guest this evening,” Bill says nonchalantly. “Someone who wanted to see how beautiful you are when you're like this... when you're ours.”  
“Who?” Ron pants, looking worried.  
  
I have to look up then, to see the look on his face when Harry pulls off the cloak and reveals himself, hot in the face, pupils blown with lust and clearly very aroused.  
  
Bill is cruel to the last – rather than letting Ron react, he suddenly starts fisting hard on his cock and Ron, completely broadsided by the fact that his best friend has been watching all night, lets out a guttural cry of surprise as he comes, hard, all over his own stomach.  
  
It's long and messy and undignified – hot as hell. Harry's mouth falls open as he watches. Bill's wearing a satisfied smirk. Ron has his eyes screwed tightly shut and his head tilted as far back as the throat belt allows. His long toes are curled so hard above my head that the skin has bleached completely white, obliterating freckles and blood alike.  
  
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” he eventually whines, a long slow sob of pleasure released like an anxiously held breath. “Fuck.”  
  
I open my mouth to soothe, to perform my usual role, but Harry beats me to it. He moves to the head of the bench and sinks his fingers into Ron's sweat-sodden hair. He bends and kisses his dripping forehead. Tells him he's beautiful. Tells him that he loves him. Tells him that he's never felt so fucking turned on in his life. Tells him that he wants him in this way, in every way. Tells him that he's amazing.  
  
I get wearily to my feet, tongue and jaw sore from their efforts. Now I don't even get to partake in my favourite part of the night – the part where I let him up and stroke movement back into his limbs; clean him up and dress him. Feed him chunks of chocolate and sips of water until the dazed look clears from his eyes. Bill seems to know this and picks up my hand and herds close to me.  
  
“Let's leave them to it. I'll look after you.”  
  
He leads me from the room.  
  
_-fin-_


End file.
